


A Family Man

by Zimra



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene, characters who aren't technically OCs but are so minor they might as well be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pym returns home to recover after "The Mountains of Mourning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Man

Marna was waiting up for him when he finally arrived at their flat. The Count and Countess had shipped him back to Vorbarr Sultana in the afternoon of the very day they had all returned from Silvy Vale, paying no heed to his (admittedly rather weak) protests. It had been difficult to hide his shame; in his first real encounter with the young Lord Vorkosigan, Armsman Pym had managed to get himself sent home to recover from a broken rib, a mere five days into what should have been a calm two-week vacation for the Count and his family. 

But despite all that it was something of a relief to walk into the front room and find his wife sitting on the sofa, knitting needles moving mechanically in her hands even as she looked anxiously up at the door. 

“Aric!” she exclaimed in a low, agitated voice, setting her knitting aside and hurrying towards him. “What’s happened? And who is this?” The last remark was directed at the younger man who had just followed her husband through the front door, hauling two large bags and looking rather disgruntled. 

“Marna, this is Lieutenant Dea,” Aric said, and to his credit Dea mustered up a smile. “He’s one of Count Vorkosigan’s personal physicians.”

“Oh.” Marna looked only slightly less confused. “Would you like some tea?” she asked the doctor.

Aric was about to assure her that the doctor would not be staying any longer than necessary, but Dea beat him to it. “No thank you, madam,” he said, setting the bags down against the wall. “The Count only sent me along to make sure your husband made it home safely, without making his injury any worse.” 

His wife frowned. “I got Count Vorkosigan’s message a few hours ago, but all he said was that you’d been injured in the line of duty and he was sending you home to recover. What happened to you?”

Aric grimaced. It had been generous of the Count to word it like that. If he had truly been hurt saving the life of his liege lord’s son, that would be one thing, but all he had done was let himself get kicked in the chest by a terrified horse. 

"I went with Lord Vorkosigan to a village up in the mountains, and someone tried to murder his horse. We ran outside to check on the beast, and it kicked me. Broke a rib and everything."

Marna had no experience with horses, but she winced in sympathy anyway. “Why would anybody try to murder a horse?”

“I’ll explain later,” Aric muttered. Marna watched him with concern but did not press for more. 

Dea cleared his throat. “Remember, healing will likely take six weeks. Avoid strenuous activity during that time, particularly heavy lifting. Breathe deeply, take your painkillers, and get plenty of rest. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get home and rest as well - I have to return to Vorkosigan Surleau first thing tomorrow morning.” The doctor stifled a yawn, looking petulant. 

"Of course," said Aric, trying to sound gracious instead of just eager to be rid of the man. "Thank you for all your help, Lieutenant.”

Dea nodded, muttered a quick “nice to meet you” to Marna, and was out the door before either of them could say another word. Aric sighed with relief and sank down onto the sofa. His head ached almost as much as his chest, and all he wanted now was to be alone with his wife. 

“You look like hell, dear,” Marna said, sitting down beside him. “You’d better come and lie down.” She helped him to his feet, and even though he felt fairly steady Aric didn’t shrug off her supportive grip on his arm. 

In their bedroom, she helped him change out of his uniform, touching him carefully and drawing her hands quickly away whenever he winced. He heard her sharp intake of breath when she saw the vivid bruise that spread across most of his chest, but she said nothing, only helped him pull a clean knit shirt over his head. _I’ve had much worse than this, love,_ he wanted to reassure her, but maybe now wasn’t the best time to remind her of some of his other close calls. 

Once he was lying down as comfortably as possible under the circumstances, Marna sat on the bed beside him and said, “So, what were you doing in the mountains with Lord Vorkosigan in the first place?”

He had intended to plead exhaustion and give her the full story tomorrow, but instead Aric found himself telling her everything, in more detail than he’d known he remembered. While he talked, Marna kneaded his temples with her fingertips, then worked her way back to his scalp, the base of his skull, the painful tension in his neck. The stern professionalism he’d worn like armor for the past few days seemed to melt away at her touch. She made encouraging sounds and asked the occasional clarifying question when his account strayed to incoherence, but mostly she let him ramble on until he’d told it all: the hill girl and her murdered child, Silvy Vale and its people, the nighttime attacks, Lord Vorkosigan and Lem Csurik…and Ma Mattulich’s confession and sentence.

“Marna, I’ve killed men before, you know I have. There were times in ImpSec when…it was kill or die, or watch them kill someone I was supposed to protect. But this…” he shifted his weight, grimacing at the spike of pain in his chest, “I never thought, when I joined the Service or when I left it, that I might have to execute an old peasant woman.” 

“But you didn’t,” Marna pointed out, running her fingers through his hair. Aric closed his eyes and sighed; he could feel himself beginning to relax for the first time in days. 

"When Lord Vorkosigan gave that sentence I was more relieved than I've ever been in my life," he murmured. "The whole investigation took less than forty-eight hours, and I don't think I've ever felt this drained after a mission before. Although,” he grimaced slightly, “that may have had something to do with Lord Vorkosigan himself.”

"What's he like?" Marna asked with interest. 

Aric considered this. "He's a good kid," he said at last. "Very smart - brilliant, even - and determined. And his heart's in the right place. I can see why the Count is so proud of him. But he seems a bit…unstable, sometimes, like he’s barely holding himself together.”

“It makes sense. He couldn’t have had an easy time of it, growing up,” Marna pointed out. “The Vor are as uncomfortable with mutations as everybody else, and he’s not just any Vor. I’ll bet Count Vorkosigan had to put some pressure on the Council to get him confirmed as his heir.” Marna had studied Barrayaran political history at the University of Vorbarr Sultana, and certainly had more insight into the workings of the Council of Counts than the average Barrayaran - she’d worked in the archives at Vorhartung Castle until their daughter was born, and even now she still went in from time to time to cover shifts for her friends. 

“Do you regret taking this job?” his wife asked quietly, her brown eyes worried. Aric knew what she was thinking. He’d applied to be an Armsman to ensure Marna and Aurie a more settled life - it paid better than being an ImpSec non-com did, and was less hazardous (though given that his Count was one of the most visible and important men on the planet, not much less), and he’d never have to worry about being transferred away to some far-flung part of the Nexus. But it required a different outlook than working for the military: a particular kind of loyalty that was all wrapped up in centuries-old notions of honor and fealty, and a genuine personal investment in the Vor class. Most of it made sense to Aric with his rather old-fashioned District upbringing - serving the Count himself still felt like an impossible honor sometimes - but Marna’s Vorbarr Sultana childhood and university education made her view the whole system with a more critical eye. 

“Not for one minute,” he said, smiling up at her. She bent down to kiss him, and a soft lock of dark hair that had come loose from her braid brushed against his face. 

The bedroom door creaked slightly. Marna sat up, and they both turned to see a small girl peering shyly around the frame. Her brown eyes widened when she realized she’d been caught, but she tried to salvage the situation by offering her parents a cheerful smile. Aric had to fight down a chuckle. 

“Aurie! What are you doing up?” Marna said in a gently scolding tone. 

“I heard you talking. Da’s back,” the little girl said, stepping into the room and pushing the door closed behind her. Aurie was six years old, brown-haired and brown-eyed like her mama, and clever like her, too - she already had a greater vocabulary and could read at a higher level than most children her age, her teachers said. “I want to say hello to Da.” 

“Alright, come here then,” Marna relented, and Aurie galloped forward and scrambled up onto the bed. Aric had a moment of pure panic as she made to leap onto his chest in her customary greeting, and it was only Marna’s timely intervention that saved his ribs from suffering the full impact of an active six-year-old. She captured Aurie around the waist and pulled her onto her lap. 

“You can’t jump on your da right now, he’s hurt,” Marna explained, and Aurie’s expression changed quickly from betrayed to concerned. 

“What’s wrong, Da?” 

“A horse kicked me, and cracked one of my ribs. I’ll be alright after a bit of rest,” he told her, keeping his voice light.

Aurie’s eyes went round as she digested this surprising information. “Why was the horse so mad at you?” she finally asked. 

Aric smiled ruefully. “He wasn’t mad, just scared. He was attacked by someone trying to harm his master. I ran up to help, but I startled him instead.” He’d been too distracted to watch Dea treat the animal, but he’d seen Ninny’s stitches later and knew enough to tell that the wound must have looked alarming before it was patched up. No wonder Lord Vorkosigan had been so distressed.

“Alright, you, it’s time for bed,” Marna said firmly, ruffling Aurie’s hair. “You can talk more tomorrow, but right now you need your rest, and so does your da.” 

Aurie pouted for a moment, but then she climbed out of her mother’s lap and kissed Aric very gently on the cheek, as though taking care not to disturb his injuries. “Good night, Da,” she said, then hopped down from the bed, took her mother’s hand, and allowed herself to be led back to her own room. 

Marna returned a few minutes later and quickly changed for bed, donning a nightdress and taking down her pinned braids. Aric lay quietly, watching the light glint off her hair as she brushed it out with long, slow strokes, until she put down the brush, switched off the light, and eased herself down beside him. He listened to her quiet breathing for a while before he said, “The girl, Harra - she couldn’t have been more than twenty, and she walked for days to find justice for her child. If the baby hadn’t been killed, she would have carried her all the way to Hassadar for treatment, even though she had almost no money and no way of knowing they wouldn't just turn her away at the hospital doors.” He stared up into the darkness. “I hope Count Vorkosigan knows how much these people need things to change.”

He heard his wife shift on her side of the bed, then felt her hand in his hair, and her lips pressing against his cheek. “You’re a good man, Aric Pym,” she whispered in his ear. “Now get some sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> The part about Pym's wife working in the Vorhartung Castle archives is canon, so a history degree seemed like a plausible extrapolation. Yes, I do imagine that she was one of Professora Vorthys' students :)


End file.
